


Not Quite a Mirror

by innie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-12
Updated: 2012-02-12
Packaged: 2017-10-31 01:35:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/338443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/innie/pseuds/innie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not a perfect reflection. (Sam at the fan convention in "The Real Ghostbusters" hooking up with a fanboy who roleplays Sam Winchester.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Quite a Mirror

**Author's Note:**

> "The Real Ghostbusters"

You knew you were only going to get one shot at this, one perfect moment where you understood that Sam Winchester was actually real, that the choices you'd posed to yourself as hypotheticals were part of his past, and then he was in front of you with a question in his eye and you nearly sprained your neck in your eagerness to nod.

And now you're kneeling in front of him, eyes caught by the slow progress of his zipper, metal clasps giving up their embrace, your white-tipped finger guiding the tab. You look up, up, up - he really is as tall as all of Dean's teasing said - and his head is tipped forward as if to see you, but his eyes are closed. A frown of concentration is deepening the lines on his face. You've got his jeans open, and you're waiting for him to remember you; your panting breath hits the skin just above the line of his boxers, and his eyes open, more disbelieving than anything else, and he reaches down to you.

With arms that long, he can even lounge a little against the wall and still touch your face. One huge palm rests over the side of your face, and you're memorizing the callouses you can feel against your skin, indications of all the weapons he's borne his whole life. His eyes meet yours, and suddenly it seems like the height of presumption for you to have assumed that this was what he'd been asking for. He must be psychic; before you can get back to your feet, his hand is on your shoulder, keeping you on your knees. His other hand slips into his underwear, pulling himself out, and you have to blink to make sure you aren't seeing things.

Because he's huge. Not even Carver Edlund had words for this, and you wouldn't have believed them anyway. He's huge and not even fully hard yet, and you wonder how any girl could have managed without a demon's lack of concern for the skin it's in.

The silence between you is broken only by your harsh breathing. Your hands steal up to touch his stomach, hard muscle unsoftened by hair or flab, and you dip your head low to taste. Tentative, because it makes no sense that you're here, that he's real, that this is even possible. You wish for a fleeting moment that your hair grew faster, that you could be a better mirror for him as your mouth completes the circuit.

He's heavy on your tongue and your jaw will ache, but you keep your eyes open, wide like you'll see more that way, more of this man you've idolized since you picked up the first book a few years ago. His head is tipped back now, lolling against the wall, and the rush of pleasure that goes through you lets you take another inch of him in.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see something glinting. Devon is standing there, amulet gleaming on his chest, glittering eyes locked on you. He falls back against the wall like he's getting winded just watching you, and his mouth falls open. "That's my boy," he whispers as a rush of come floods your throat.


End file.
